


Descreet

by wigglebox



Series: Supernatural - Season 15 Coda Fics [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Pining, Texting, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 00:00:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21484999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wigglebox/pseuds/wigglebox
Summary: Just hit send
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Supernatural - Season 15 Coda Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1514216
Comments: 18
Kudos: 103





	Descreet

1

The morning after the shit show, Sam wanted someone to talk to. 

He spent a night walking halfway between sleep and consciousness then staring at his wall again. Eventually, thoughts that were tumbling around began to blur together, melting lines and crashing into each other. By the time morning came, Sam surviving those harrowing overnight hours, the monster in his head grew to an enormous size. Sam needed to relieve that pressure. 

But he didn’t want to talk to Dean again. Sam didn’t want platitudes.

He grabbed his phone off the end table and typed out a quick message, not wanting to venture out of his room just yet: 

_Can we talk? Not feeling too hot_

Sam fell back asleep waiting for a response. 

Dean only slept because he knocked back a few bottles and kept his music on a low buzz to drown out any creepings thoughts threatening to invade his space. 

His phone sat on the dresser, alone and abandoned, but not turned off. 

Just in case. 

The last messages:

_There was a cardigan and glasses. _

_Wouldn’t swear_

_Nerd_

_If it wasn’t so serious, yes. Big nerd. _

_Anyone choosing to wear a cardigan should be treated as a threat_

_I’ll keep it in mind. _

_Coming home now_

_Ok_

2

Two nights after they got back to the bunker, Sam decided to join Dean and Cas for dinner at actual dinner time instead of holding out for a safe time when the kitchen would be vacant. 

Cas never came by, but Sam didn’t send out a second text, requesting company. He figured Dean told Cas to leave some space. Annoying, but maybe it was for the best.

No one sat in the kitchen, and Sam didn’t hear any noise in any surrounding rooms. 

Frowning, he ignored his hunger and turned around, looking for someone in the silence. 

Through closed doors, Sam heard the television at full blast in the den. He didn’t have to try the handle to know it was locked. The TV threw out a dull, low-frequency chatter that always gave Sam a small shiver of uneasiness. The glow from the screen and the noises of westerns and cop dramas would float from under the door gap between the TV den and the room Sam and Dean would stay in those nights they found themselves in mountain cabins.

Neither of them slept. They both knew that whenever John sat and drank in front of the box past midnight, they’d be in for hangover hell the next day. 

Still. 

Sam knocked. 

“It’s not locked,” a voice answered, shouting over the guns and explosions. 

Sam sighed before pushing the door open slightly, just to poke his head in. 

The familiar sight of a lone figure, reclined to their fullest with two empty bottles next to them while they worked on the third made Sam want to turn around the other way without saying anything. He should have stayed in his damn room. 

“Hey, have dinner already?”

Dean shook his head, not turning around. 

“Not that hungry. Had a big lunch.”

Sam looked around the darkened room, frowning at the long shadows cast by the blue glow from the screen. 

“Where’s Cas?”

“Bounced two nights ago.”

Another explosion from the movie, Die Hard 3, punctuated Dean’s statement. 

“Two nights, like, when we got back -- can you turn that down please?” 

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender and obliged, dipping them into a ringing silence. Sam moved further into the room. 

“He seriously left? _Now?_”

Dean nodded, finishing off his third bottle. Sam noted, with some relief, there was no more waiting in the wings. 

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Not sure. Went to bed, woke up, he was gone.” 

Dean still didn’t turn, and Sam realized after hearing those short, succinct words that he didn’t really _want_ to look at Dean. The next steps in the pattern were simple:

Cas leaves without telling them. Dean tries contacting him for a couple of days, or waits longer if he feels the need, _then_ tries contacting Cas. Cas doesn’t respond. Dean gets moody. Dean sits in his chair with booze and a bad action movie. Dean grumbles and whines until Cas comes back or answers the phone or sends a text. Annoyance remains for maybe a day, then everything melts away like it never happened. 

Sam sighed and nodded, though Dean couldn’t see him. They both watched the screen as Bruce Willis did something to someone and who knows, who cares. 

“Alright -- want a sandwich or anything?” Sam offered. He saw Dean shake his head before the volume went back to its obnoxious levels. 

As Sam picked at his food, he shot out two quick messages:

_Cas call me we need to talk_

_Didn’t know you were taking off_

In the den, Dean played with his phone, debating on getting up and breaking open their last six-pack. The TV helped create the white noise he desperately needed, and he was just on the edge of sleep-drunk. 

Just before Sam came in, Dean debated on sending a message of his own. He deleted it when he heard the knock. 

_Can we talk please?_

3

Sam, for a few hours at least, thought Cas got back to Dean. 

The obnoxious breakfast gave Sam a headache, and he didn’t really want to come along for this random-ass hunt but Dean seemed in a good mood. The only logical explanation was at some point in the night, Cas decided to answer a text or phone call. 

It stung a little, thinking Cas would respond to one and not both of them, but Sam found comfort at the fact that Cas wasn’t in any danger, that they knew of. Besides --

There was that _thing_ Dean and Cas had. 

Sam went on thinking everything was alright, and he himself started to feel better with some sun and fresh air. Things were as they were, as they should be, and for the first time in seventy-two hours, he felt a little better. Only a little though, as flashes of red and death popped in and out of his mind throughout the day. But a little was better than nothing at all, and Sam was grateful for any lift assistance out of the spiraling black pit.

However, everything crashed back down when he saw the flash of silver by Dean’s mouth, out in the middle of the day, in the middle of a job -- not a care in the world. 

Dean had the flask on him since they started looking for Mary, and Sam didn’t say anything. It was like a safety blanket when the going got tough. He didn’t like it, but after so many years of being unable to change it, Sam excepted it. 

But he didn’t expect it now, not after the display that morning. Last night, yes -- this morning, no. 

As they moved on during the day, Sam realized that Cas hadn’t gotten back to either of them at all. 

More platitudes in the car, more ignoring the problems, and more self-doubt found Sam locked back up in his room, dreading sleep as the dream from last night starting to ease back fully into his memory. 

The rolling wave of fear and nerves began rocking again, and Sam brought out his phone and opened his one-sided conversation with Cas. 

_Service sucks in the bunker want to make sure you’re getting these?_

Sitting on the floor of the bathroom always helped Dean feel better. Something about the humming of the exhaust fan and the coolness of the tile helped him feel grounded, no matter the place, no matter the town. 

He found himself back on the ground three days after he first collapsed in the bathroom, afraid he’d have a heart attack over everything because he was a stupid, sensitive little bitch who couldn’t fucking --

Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

Dean’s back propped him up against the wall, and he bent his knees to place his feet against the wooden cupboards, playing with his phone again in his lap. He turned it back on for the job but promised himself it’d go back to _off_ as soon as they were done. 

And yet

Here he was 

Again. 

_Blink_ and suddenly Dean’s home screen shone back at him, a happy little welcome. Another _blink_ and the chatbox with Cas opened before Dean’s very eyes, the last message still displaying as some cruel, stupid reminder of when things were a little simpler.

_Coming home now_

Coming home now. Coming home now. Coming home _now_. 

Dean’s fingers worked on auto-pilot, his brain not catching up until he wrote half a novel:

_A lot happnd and i’m scared and i kno you are to and so is Sam nd this is all too much i cna’t figure out whats real anymreo and i don’t think hes’ still around but how much of my life is fake is eveything fake are you fake i dont want you to be faek and i wnt you abck here i cant evne think_

Dean snapped back before finishing the sentence, but his now shaking hands couldn’t keep up in time and the abrupt stop caused the phone to slip, his fingers hitting send as he fumbled before the thing could hit the ground. 

All the air in Dean’s lungs disappeared in a flash, replaced by cement as he let the phone drop fully out of his hands and onto the tile. The sharp noise sounded more like a burst of mocking laughter in his face. 

A minute, two minutes, five minutes, an hour -- Dean finally drew in a long, shaky breath and picked up the phone, careful to keep his fingers only on the side edges _just in case --_

It didn’t send. 

No service -- it didn’t send. 

_TRY AGAIN? _

_CANCEL_

The prompts were an easy decision, and Dean made sure to line his finger directly up with _CANCEL_ before giving the message the boot. 

4

A week. No word from Cas and Sam grew more worried. Dean, on the other hand, didn’t seem all too bothered.

_Call me when you can_. 

Dean deleted another message that morning, typed seemingly in his sleep. He forgot to turn his phone off. Thankfully his sleep-addled brain didn’t hit send. 

_Can I call you?_

5

Why wasn’t Dean saying anything? 

_Want to make sure you’re okay?_

Dean tried three different messages before giving up. It was stupid. The whole thing was stupid. Why should he have to try and fix this shit it was _done _ it was _over_ they were free to move the _fuck on --_

_Would you consider _

_Can we_

_I don’t _

6

Dean went to the store and Sam sent out another text that morning, annoyed and worried, but most of all, concerned that he was the _only_ one worrying. 

_Cas check in as soon as you can please_

They hadn’t heard from him in nearly a week and a half. 

Sam had made the argument time and time again that Cas could take care of himself, that he knew what he was doing -- 

But, the radio silence _now_ of all times seemed wrong. Sam knew his level of panic and unease had grown over the two weeks from those horribly realistic dreams, but _still --_

Even more disturbing than Cas’s sudden disappearance, was Dean’s sudden lack of caring. 

No whining, no outbursts, no sulking -- drinking wasn’t too bad but Sam still caught those tell-tale flashes of silver here and there. Hard shit. 

_What did you do, Dean. _

The question formed as Sam scrolled through the messages again, for the fourth time that morning, making sure all of them sent. 

As the door slammed behind him, Sam killed the phone’s screen, not wanting to throw his theories out at his brother right then and there. 

But, as they talked and as Dean almost burned a hole in his throat, those small theories grew into loud questions, wanting to tumble out of his mouth. 

_What did you _do.

Sitting in the car outside the gas station, out of his room and out of the bunker, Dean turned the phone back on, riding a small high on the risk of bringing up the chatbox where he had full bars. 

The sun shone on the bag of food and his phone’s screen. The bottle of shit liquor, whatever it was, already cracked open and at Dean’s mouth, ready to be stashed away by the time he got home. 

He typed the message he had typed for the tenth time since waking up that morning

_I’m sorry_

A moment, then

Delete, and move on. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Boy oh boy did ya girl wanna cry with 15x05! It breaks my heart that Sam kept reaching out -- Mr. "It's Cas he's fine" in other episodes. Phew. Gimmie some kleenex, need to dry my eyes. 
> 
> This coda, like last coda, was a little bit of a struggle mostly because I wanted to go through Sam's POV and I'm not used to writing his POV. 
> 
> Part of me wonders if Cas is seeing his messages and calls  
Another part of me wonders if Cas still even has his phone. Who's he going to talk to? 
> 
> (I almost wrote this from Cas's POV, but I wanted the challenge of Sam! ya!)
> 
> This is unbeta'd, lightly edited by yours truly so if there are any issues, kindly let me know!


End file.
